The woods

Tired eyes. I keep hanging on those solid state memories that floats the air, almost as if they have material existence, as if my skin, and not just my mind, could touch them. The taste of the look you throw right into my face, the smell of the words that hover the small, unstable space between us, the inconstancy of time when I am close to you, cannot be but just a single detail near the strength of the pump in my chest. Sound waves echoing my brain, tiny, empty head; light waves reflecting the persistence of nature that is found in front of my eyes, the face of a god, the more than mathematical harmony, converging and bounding to the form of your face. There's no frequency capable of reproducing the sound of your voice, nature did not give the gift of love to transportation. Sad eyes, but I should never go. Instability of time, of hearts. Trembling arms and spirits. The pain comes from fear, scary thoughts of losing touch, of not being able to touch the skin of your soul. Than, the kind words to take me out of this position. I love you than my own spirit. If nothing shakes, we go nowhere, but anywhere and whenever are the place and time for us to be the happiest human beings, pieces of an unknown geometry that links universes between us, that completes our own physical arrangement, that wrests the shape of known nature and creates its own private world, a little woods hidden in a glimpse of the eye, in the poetry of the voice-wave, in the kindness of a soft touch, and into the eternity of a little kiss.